Let Go
by Taisi
Summary: When Leo's brothers sneak him out of camp, it's because they think he works too hard. And Leo doesn't agree, but the little trips into the city are fun- until they run into one of his old foster dads, and all the progress Leo had been making at camp comes apart like something he didn't build right in the first place.


A/N: Another short for Leo, this time done on request for someone on DevArt. I might actually write a few more chapters of this, but I'm not sure yet. C:

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It wasn't the first time his brothers snuck him out of camp, and he was sure it wouldn't be the last. Apparently, according to Jake, Chris and Shane, he worked too hard. Which wasn't true, really—he actually needed to work harder on the magnificent _Argo II_ if they ever wanted to get it finished in time to cross the seas and rescue camp favorite Percy Jackson. There was so much left to _do _and so much they could try to make sure their ship of fire was every bit as awesome as a ship of freaking _fire _should be.

Of course his brothers didn't feel the same way; because every meal Leo skipped, every night he missed a few hours of sleep, only convinced them more and more that he needed an intervention or something.

Which led them to start their little excursions out of camp and into the city; breaking the rules in a really major way, but seriously, what's the worst that could happen?

Now, Leo had been all over Texas, Arizona, New Mexico, even parts of California—but there was something special about New York City. The staggering amount of people and traffic, all the lights and activity; it was so easy to slip into the crowd, and maybe in a smaller darker part of himself, the child in him that grew up way too fast without really growing up at all, liked how easy it was to become invisible in such a bustling city.

Chris and Shane were as entertaining as ever, making faces at kids when they road on the bus or subway, jumping in with street performers just because they can, doing everything in their power to make sure Leo ended up doubled over laughing, while Jake watched over them all with a careful eye.

They didn't have a lot of money, but they couldn't help slipping into hardware stores and poking through aisles for ideas—it was an effective way to brainstorm, Leo was discovering, looking around at yards and yards of raw materials and twisting his fingers to stop their eager twitching. Usually his hair would start to steam and he'd have to high-tail it out of there, his big brothers laughing at his red face as he clamped his arms over his head.

"Jerks," he was grumbling, waiting for them outside, when someone walked right into him. It wasn't a crowded street but the man had several shopping bags, so Leo stepped back with a quick apology, waiting for the stranger to pass him by.

Only, Leo realized as seconds went by and clarity caught up in slow motion, he wasn't a stranger at all.

"You," the man muttered, but it was more like a hiss, and Leo felt his shoulders hunch involuntarily. "What the hell are you doing here?"

Leo's mind was frozen, staring up at Mr. Wiler—_this was Mr. Wiler _who, along with his tired wife, had fostered Leo for less than a month. Leo had run from that home seven times in that same month, before finally social services found the bruises on his arm and removed him from their care, revoking their license in the process. They almost lost their own children, and the whole time Leo remembered shrinking under Mr. Wiler's glare, clutching a half-finished robot he'd made out of the vacuum and the oscillating fan from their twins' room. Mr. Wiler couldn't _stand _him, couldn't stand his inventions, would grab him fiercely and drag him through the house to his room, would throw him inside and slam the door shut, leaving Leo with the pieces of his broken invention and arms that hurt and eyes that burned—and he would scramble for the window before his breathing had the chance to stop shaking.

And he was shaking now, all these years later, in the face of a man who almost lost his family and blamed it all on _him._

Mr. Wiler took a step forward, and Leo flinched, eyes wide, heart a solid mass up in his throat, and somewhere behind him he heard his brothers come out of the store, joking and chuckling and probably glancing around for him but their voices were far far away because Mr. Wiler took another step forward and Leo turned and ran.

"Wha- _Leo!"_

Camp was wonderful, camp was family, but camp hadn't made him forget how to run. He could escape, he could be gone, Mr. Wiler couldn't touch him, and when they found him and dragged him back it didn't matter because he'd escape _again,_ again and again because they couldn't _stop him running—_

A hand around his wrist stopped him.

Caught him.

"Leo," Jake's voice was gentle and firm and Leo didn't realize he was close to combusting—hair steaming, clothes beginning to lift and sizzle—until he realized Jake's hand was blistering from the heat of his skin.

Leo blinked at him once, uncomprehending, before he noticed the _terrifying smell of burning skin and hair and _"Oh god Jake your hand- Jake _let go _your hand!"

"No," he said simply. "So you might want to calm down, this _really _hurts."

Hephaestus' favorite stuttered. "Wha- wh- don't give me that tone, you're the one holding on!"

"Leo."

It was too much, too much panic and worry and nostalgia and old fears and kindness, too much, if he tried running away from his brothers, much too much—his face crumpled and his curls and clothes sagged with a sudden whoosh of cool air, the rest of him sagging with a weight that he wasn't sure how to carry anymore, and he cried.

He was aware, dimly, of being scooped up off the ground. Jake's voice was a little distant, he and Chris were talking somewhere behind him—to Mr. Wiler? He shifted in an attempt to peer over Shane's shoulder, but his brother gave him a quick jostle and a petulant grin when Leo looked at him reproachfully.

"Come on, senior counselor," he said, voice much gentler than it usually was. "There's nothing to cry about."

Leo could've argued that. He really, really could have.

But he didn't want to. So he nodded, and scrubbed at his eyes with his sleeve, and maybe slipped off to sleep.

The last thing he was aware of was a hand carding through his curls, and someone murmuring, exasperated and fond, "Alright, guys. Let's get our little runner home."


End file.
